Go Your Own Way
by Daina
Summary: During the summer of the trio's fifth year, the Weasley family invites Harry and Hermione with them on a holiday to visit Charlie at the Romanian dragon colony. Dragons, however, are not the only interesting in habitants of the area. Features H/G, R/Hr C
1. Prologue

            Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Kaisha and the vampire clans). JKR is God! Please don't sue me, all I have is a (rather extensive) collection of Buffy books and $11.31 to my name!

                                              Go Your Own Way

Prologue:

The baby was dying.  Mother knew at least that much, even if she couldn't pronounce the disease the child was dying of.  The doctors had told her that the child was beyond all hope.  The only thing left to do was make her last remaining days on earth as comfortable as possible, but how do you make life comfortable for a dying six month old?  Father had left before Mother had born the child, and Mother was out of options.  Medicine was not going to save the child.  There was nothing to do.

But that was a lie.  There **was** something that she could do, and if it would save her baby, Mother had to try.  She would give up anything for the child.  Where medicine had failed, magic may save.  Mother couldn't do it alone, but she knew who could.

Against the warnings of all who knew what she planned to do, Mother bundled the infant and herself up as tightly as possible, and set out into the chilled Romanian night.  There would be a long, hard road to follow before she reached her final destination, and the sooner they got going, the safer the baby would be.  

Hours passed as she climbed through the dense mountain forest, and Mother prepared herself for the arrival.  She had known of the village's existence since her memory began; it was a tale told to all the children of her town. 

"Be good or we will send you to _Întunecare_," was the threat that mothers had repeated for generations to their misbehaving children.  Întuncare was the village of the dead, a place even the bravest of Mother's town would not venture.  The place was now more a myth than reality, but Mother knew the truth.  It was Grandfather who told her stories of his youth, and the daring things he had done.  Once, on a challenge, he had searched out the mythical village.  He said that was the day his hair turned white.  

The village was high in the mountains above Mother's home, and if one walked all day, following the creeks and waterfalls into the mountain valley, there you would find Întunecare.  "But you must no go there, _iubit_. It is the home of death and dark magic," Grandfather had said one evening.  Mother could see the fear in his eyes, as if remembering past horrors that were better left forgotten.  The usual mirth in his voice had been lost, and his words came out in a frightened whisper.  "They are haunted, those who live in Întuncare.  They die, only to live at great cost. They are the _strigoi_.  The deathless.  I pray you never meet them."

Mother, however, had other prayers; prayers for the life of her child.  Her prayers would be answered, whatever the cost.  If dark magic could spare the child, then she would do it.  Her baby would survive.  

By the time mother reached the dark mountain valley, she was a rock.  Her baby would live; there was no other option.  If they refused, Mother would find a way to kill the deathless, even if it meant her life as well. She climbed over the mountain ridge to a high mountain lookout, and surveyed the land before her.  

The valley of Întuncare was carved out of the high mountain peaks surrounding it.  It was an ancient valley, and the land in its base had been smoothed down by the ages.  The center of the Valley was open meadows with a large glacial lake in the center.  Adjoining the lake was a thick forest that seemed to spread from the lake high into mountain peaks.  The entire valley was rimmed with forest, which Mother would have to travel through to reach the basin below.  Mother saw some lights high on a stone ridge on the other side of the valley, and began her descent into Întuncare.  Unfortunately, that was as close to the village of Întunecare as mother would get. 

As she started down towards the valley, Mother became aware that she was not alone.  The shadows in the trees around her were not only dark, but flesh as well.  Watching.  Waiting.  Mother was afraid, but she would continue; her child needed her.

A shadow moved, quick as a flash, and became form.  He was standing right in front of Mother, thin and gaunt, with hollow skin and dark eyes that burned into hers like fire.  In the moonlight, Mother could see his dark hair was splayed with gray, and the dark hair paired with the black cloak he wore made his white skin stand out like the white of a star.  'He's not human,' was all Mother could think, and she was right.  This man, he was the _strigoi_.  No human could have looked as he did.  His eyes commanded her, and she was helpless.

The baby squawked from deep inside Mothers cloak, bringing her back from the abyss of black.  Mother suddenly remembered the reason for her journey, and began to plead with the stranger in a desperate rush. "Sir, my baby, she is dying.  She needs help._ I_ need help."  Mother paused, and then continued, " Please, you must do something, anything.  I will do anything I can to repay you, but my daughter, my daughter must live."

"And why do I care?  Humans die everyday, why should this child be any different? I cannot change fate," said the man in a tone clearly indicating that the death of a child had no more significance than the death of fly.

"But sir, sir, you possess the darkest of magic.  You are able, I **know** you are.  I will pay the cost," Mother pleaded. The dark man looked intensely at Mother, as if weighing her words carefully to see if there was value in them.  After a long moment of contemplation, and great anxiety on the part of Mother, the man spoke in a tone that was cold and calculating, as if the proposition of granting life to an infant was no more than a simple business transaction.

"Ah, I fear that you find yourself in the wrong company if magic is what you seek," the man said casually. "But, if you are willing to pay the price, then I may be able to help the child. Let me see her."

"Yes, yes, anything!  Thank you, thank you, you shall not regret this.  Anything I have is yours."  Mother was fumbling excitedly to unwrap the dying child from traveling pouch tucked underneath her cloak.  Out came the infant, quite pink from the warmth of Mother's body.  She had the dark eyes and dark hair that was common to the inhabitants of their village, but the child was visibly quite sick.  She was small, even for a babe her age, and sickly thin.  Her eyes were heavy lidded, and it seemed that the child was fighting a losing battle to keep them open.  It's labored breathing came only sporadically and was painful to hear.

"Give her to me," said the man, his eyes suddenly filled with a strange hunger.  As he took the baby in his arms, he examined her quite closely, looking into the passive face of a child in the clutches of death.  "She is beautiful.  It is a deal then?  If I help the child, you will pay the price?" 

"Yes, it is a deal.  Anything you ask of me, just let my baby live."

"Alright then, she will live."  The man was now reaching for something from under his coat.  It was only when he brought the desired item out, that Mother had realized the error she had made in trusting the man with her beloved.

She was staring at the man, holding her baby in one hand, and a long silver dagger in the other.  She began to scream and moved to protect the baby.  Around her, the living shadow sprang to life, and grabbed hold to restrain her.

"Don't fear, you're child will be safe with me.  I have always wanted a daughter of my own," he said, looking directly at the child as he said this.  But Mother couldn't hear that, her mind was racing with terror and her ears were filled with her own screams.

The man lowered the dagger to the child small wrist, and opened her soft flesh with a quick stroke.  Blood squirted from the child's severed artery, and he lowered his mouth to the bloodied arm, ignoring the screams that pierced the night around him.  Indeed, it was as if a wall of silence had enveloped him and the babe, for she made no sound as her eyes slowly glazed over.  The man drank as he had never before.  The infant's blood was sweet with the innocence that only children possess, but he had to be careful to leave enough for the child to survive the transformation.

  Mere seconds later, he pulled his mouth away from the silent child.  He laid her down on a patch of soft moss at his feet.  He took the dagger, and, with the same quick motion, slit his own wrist.  Blood splashed down, covering the child in a rain of gore.  The man then knelt down next to the child, and lowered his wound to her tiny mouth. Blood dripped down into her throat, and only when the child shuddered violently did he pull his arm away.  

Mother was in hysterics.  This was not happening.  She would have done anything to save her child, but what was happening to her baby was as far from saving as possible.  She wanted the child to live, but not like that, not like _them._

And suddenly, there was a noise other than her own shrieks, and it came from the child.  The child was crying, crying, as mother had not heard her cry since birth.  

"See now?  That's better, isn't it?  Oh how hungry she must be.  You're child is safe, but I'm afraid now it is time for the payment to be collected.  You see, I do not have enough blood to feed your child, and without blood she will not survive. It is only fair after all, a life for a life," said the man, explaining why he was suddenly moving towards the paralyzed Mother.  He advanced with the sleek fluid motions of a cat.  

Mother had nowhere to run, and could not move even if she wanted to; the firm arms holding her in place saw to that.  "Don't worry, I will take good care of her," was the last thing that Mother heard, before sharp teeth ripped into her throat.

Looking quite a bit more flushed than he had previously, Sorin Koshchei stepped away from the corpse of his victim, and moved towards the crying child on the ground.  "Don't worry darling Kaisha, Father is here."


	2. Beginnings and Ends

Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Kaisha and the vampire clans). JKR is God! Please don't sue me, all I have is a (rather extensive) collection of Buffy books and $11.31 to my name!

A.N.: I'd like to send out a huge thank you to all my awesome betas…without them there would be no story to tell.  Also, I must especially thank Missy Hallan, for her wicked ideas, and Evil Amy, for being the best Beta a gal could ask for.

                                                       Go Your Own Way

     Chapter One: Beginnings and Ends

            If Harry had hated Snape before, it was nothing compared to the deep-seated loathing he was currently feeling towards the Hogwarts Potions Master.

            Nearing the end of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Severus Snape had returned to his favorite pastime: making life as difficult as possible for Harry Potter, fifth year Gryffindor and (on many occasions) savior of the wizarding world.

 Snape, it had seemed, had recovered quite well from the shocking discovery of Lord Voldemort's return to his former glory, if glory was indeed the appropriate word choice in this situation. Currently, Snape was using (a very unwilling) Harry as the "volunteer", upon which the class was testing the potency of this week's Potions projects: _Tantus decresco; a shrinking potion, and its counter potion, __Aliquantulus amplifico; an enlarging potion that the class was using as a makeshift antidote.  As Harry found himself rapidly shrinking to the size of the average Cornish Pixie, only to be enlarged to the rough size of the half-giant Hagrid minutes later, he felt a sudden empathy towards Alice and her misadventures in Wonderland. _

It was clear that the students of Slytherin house felt this was the best Potions class in their entire Potions career.  Not only had Harry Potter, their long-time nemesis, been diminishing and expanding for forty-five minutes straight, but thanks to the combined efforts of Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan, Potter was only able to use his severely burnt tongue (Seamus had a tendency to set fire to objects one wouldn't have normally thought flammable) to speak in a high pitched voice, somewhat reminiscent of a chipmunk. That was, of course, provided that chipmunks _could_ speak.  Harry didn't think that they could, but, well, the more odd something sounded, the more likely it was possible in the wizarding world.    

When the class let out an agonizing ten minutes later, Harry's tongue still felt particularly raw, but, gratefully, his voice no longer sounded rodent-esque.  True, it was a little higher than normal, but he was sure that the effects of the potion should reverse themselves entirely within the hour.  Harry and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, both fifth year Gryffindors as well, quickly packed up their quills and Potions text and hurried out of the dungeon class room as fast as possible.  The trio was always in a hurry to leave Snape and Potions far behind them, preferring to spend their time in more emotionally healthy environments.  Like Satanic ceremonies. Cock-fights. Mr. Bean marathons.  Anything was healthier than Snape's class. 

As they wound themselves along the endless corridors, hallways, and staircases that comprised the labyrinth that was Hogwarts, heading to their most frequented destination, the Hogwarts library, a familiar voice called out to them. "Ron!" came from the petite redheaded girl, walking at a hurried pace behind them.

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister and treasurer of the 'Harry Potter Fan Club'.  Or at least, she had been. Harry wasn't sure anymore exactly where things stood with him and Ginny, but he was pretty sure that she no longer worshipped the ground he walked upon as she had when they had first met. Harry liked to think that they were friends now.  Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had basically been inseparable over the past year.  Dark times tended to bring wizards together, and Ginny was entered into the fold as if she had always been there.  Hermione, after all, was a girl, and Harry supposed that there was only so much that she could talk with Ron and himself about.  Ron also didn't seem to mind that he was spending his social time with his little sister. Family seemed very important to the Weasleys these days, as it was with most of the wizarding world.

Harry had stayed with the Weasley family twice now, and both times Harry felt more at home with them than he ever had been living at number four Privet drive with the Dursley's.  Mrs. Molly Weasley had treated Harry as the son she'd never had, who had quite a bit more leeway than all six of her actual sons.  Although Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley boys, were living in Egypt and Romania respectively, they were still very much a part of the everyday life of the Weasley family.  Since The Dark Lord's return, daily owls had kept Bill and Charlie in constant contact with Mrs. and Mr. Weasley.  Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny all still lived at The Burrow (the Weasley's chaotic home) although Percy was seldom seen, as he was always under a lot of pressure with "important work for the Ministry."  Likewise, on Harry's first visit to The Burrow, Ginny sightings were as elusive as those of Percy on his second visit.  Ginny was so nervous around Harry that she had trouble being in the same room as him.  Thankfully, the awkwardness between Harry and Ginny had dissipated in the years following, and now Harry considered her to be one of his best friends.

Ginny had finally caught up to the three of them.  She wore an excited look upon her face, and it seemed she was more than a little out of breath as she began to talk to them.  "Ron," she repeated, "it's Dad.  He's sent us an owl.  Wants us all together to read it."

"What's happened? Is it Charlie? Bill?" gasped Ron, suddenly worrying for the safety of those family members not currently attending Hogwarts; all but the twins, Ginny, and himself.

"Ron," Ginny said in her most soothing tone of voice, "it's nothing like that.  It can't be.  Dad sent the letter with Errol; he wouldn't have trusted old Errol with some thing so urgent.  I expect the letter's several days late already.  Poor Errol, the bird's behaving as if it's just flown the circumference of the globe with a whale attached to his leg! "

With this, Ron looked much calmer than he had only seconds earlier.  "Right.  Good point, Gin. I've said it before and I'll say it again: that birds a bloody menace!"  Harry found this exclamation rather funny, as Ron seemed to believe there was something wrong with almost everything their family owned, including his own owl Pigwidgeon, who had now been called a "Bloody Menace" so often that the misfortunate bird was beginning to question whom Ron was addressing when he called out to "Pig".  As curiosity was rapidly replacing the fear in Ron's brain, he decided to probe Ginny for a bit more information.  "What's this letter about?  Why do we all have to be together to hear it?"

 "Dunno what it's about, but it must concern the lot of us if he wants us together to read the thing."  At that she gave Ron a pained expression, clearly indicating that he should get his arse in gear because she was dying to find out what their father had written them. 

"Right then.  Sorry, Hermione.  Guess I won't be hindering you as you work towards another perfect test score," Ron teased, sending Hermione a wicked smile.

"What are you talking about?" interrupted Ginny, looking somewhat baffled. "Hermione and Harry are to come, too.  Dad wrote for everyone to be there, _including these two.  Now let's go.  Fred and George are waiting for us, and you know as well as I do not to leave those two on their own with something important.  They've more than likely already blown the letter up in an attempt to turn it into a Howler."_

                                                *   *   *   *   *

Kaisha was hungry.  Truth be told, Kaisha was pretty much always hungry, only, now, she was more hungry as she was bored and had nothing to take her mind off it.  Why did her father always insist on Kaisha attending the clan meetings?  She never actually said anything in them, and she paid even less attention.  Yes, Sorin Koshchei was head of the Koshchei clan, and she, Kaisha Koshchei, was his only child, but she really didn't think that her presence at these meetings helped anything at all.   In fact, more often than not she was a hindrance.  The speakers would often stop in the middle of a long diatribe about the rights of vampires in the magical world, to explain to her the most simple of concepts.  She supposed now that she was an adult, she should probably start paying attention to these sorts of things, but Kaisha, who more often felt like she was twelve rather than twenty-three, had no desire for anything political in her life. She was bored with it all.  There were so many other, more exciting things that she could be doing.  

Today Charlie was working with Mittens, her favorite dragon in the entire colony.  Kaisha had been there when the Swedish Short-snout had hatched.  She was the one the dragon had first seen, and she had been the one to name it. Kaisha had been deprived of a pet of her own during childhood, and found comfort in an imaginary kitten named 'Mittens'.  When the dragon hatched, ten year-old Kaisha had felt that the differences between kittens and dragons were only skin deep, and had decided to name the dragon Mittens because of this.  At her age, and after several years of close contact with dragons, Kaisha now knew that kittens and dragons did not share very much in common, and, infact, the only thing linking the two was the fact that dragons enjoyed eating kittens.  

Kaisha had always been very interested in dragons.  She figured that was just what happened when you grew up next to the largest Dragon Colony in Europe.  Well, 'next to' was a bit of an exaggeration.  'In the same secluded valley as' would probably have been the more accurate description.  As a little girl, Kaisha had spent countless hours hanging around the dragon camps, listening to the men and women as they worked with the dragons.  Kaisha had learned a lot that way, but she had learned even more when they had let her help; the burn scars could attest to that fact.  Kaisha had spent so much time down at the dragon colony that she had almost become an unofficial member of the crew. 

She longed to be outside in the early summer air working with her set partner, Charlie Weasley, attempting to tame the untamable.  It was difficult work, but Charlie never made it feel like any thing but fun.  They had been working together for just over two years now, and she considered Charlie her closest friend.  After all, Charlie was one of the few people in her age bracket for several hundred miles.  There were not a lot of children in the clans, and there were even less in the colony town.  Kaisha had grown up at the Dragon camps, and, when Charlie arrived at the camps a few years ago, she had been delighted with the prospect of having someone her own age there.  Charlie and Kaisha had worked side by side since his first day, and she had treasured every moment of it. 

She loved working with the dragons, pretending to be a normal wizarding girl, and she hated that she had to give up time spent with Charlie and Mittens for a boring clan meeting.  As she sat there, lost in her own thoughts, two words jarred her out of her reverie. 

"_Lord Voldemort_ wishes to arrange an assembly between his Death-Eaters and the Strigoi Clans," said her Father. A hush fell over all present at the meeting.

"And what did you say, Sorin?" questioned Goran Viscovic, head of the Vurkodlak clan.

"I said I would discuss the prospect with the other clans, and I would let him know what we have decided." Sorin always operated under the pretense that the opinions of the other clans mattered greatly to him, when, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.  The Koshchei clan ruled over most of the vampire clans with an iron fist.  The oldest and arguably the most powerful of the Romanian breed, the will dominated the weaker clans.  Clan heads, such as Viscovic, found themselves virtually the puppets to Koshchei puppet masters.

There were, however, other clans outside the immediate sway of the Koshchei.  Kaisha had only heard of these clans in passing, as there was very seldom any interaction between these clans and the Koshchei.  Kaisha had heard of the Carmarilla clan; a clan of fierce female vampires who were not born but made, and who lived deep in the forests on the other side of the valley. 

 Kaisha naturally looked down upon this group.  A clan of made vampires was obviously going to be much weaker than the Koshchei, who could trace their lineage all the way back to Dragomir the Wizard, the father of the Romanian Vampire strain.  

Koshchei blood was the purest, and had the highest potency of Dragomir's remnant magic.  In fact, Kaisha herself had been the first made vampire of the clan since Dragomir himself.  This fact was seldom mentioned though.  The made daughter of Sorin was never questioned in relation to the inferiority of made vampires for fear of Sorin's wrath.  Sorin, if he had not killed the offending questioner on the spot, would have argued back that so strong was the magic of Dragomir within him, that Kaisha would have been granted the strength of _any_ born vampire.

The Romanian clans were sired by Dragomir Koshchei, a creature who had once been a human wizard.   Dragomir traded his soul for the gift of immortality.  Legend claims that it was the dark god Chernobog himself that had made the trade.  Who exactly it was does not matter, what matters is that it happened.  

Dragomir's soul was the essence of who he was, and it flowed throughout his entire being.  As his soul was taken from him, it left Dargomir's body empty of the blood in which it ran.  To compensate, he was forced to drink the blood of the living to obtain the matter to carry the oxygen throughout his body.  Dragomir became known as Dragomir Koshchei, the deathless. 

Although he was content to live forever, Dragomir was not content to spend it alone.  Before he had been made, Dragomir had been in love with a village girl named Vassilissa, but she spurned his affections as she was in love with another.  If there was anyone the vampire would wish to spend eternity with, it was Vassilissa.  On the day that was to be her wedding day, Dragomir fed on her, forced her to feed off him, and she, Vassilissa, became the first made vampire.  Vassilissa swore she would have her revenge upon the vampire, and set out to find Chernobog and find some way to obliterate Koshchei.   

When Vassilissa left, Koshchei, alone again, resolved to make more of his kind, and made seven other vampires, which became the origins of the seven clans.  Dragomir and the vampire Mirela had born a child together, thus starting the Koshchei clan of Dragomir's biological descendents.

Years passed as Vassilissa searched for Chernobog, when finally, she found him.  The dark god, who was responsible for all things evil, refused to give up his prized possession, and Vassilissa turned to the light god, Belobog, for help.  Belobog told her that Dragomir's soul had been hidden in an egg that was beneath a tree on the top of a mountain, and if she were to find it, the only thing to do would be to destroy it.  For only by destroying it would Dragomir Koshchei die.  The journey was difficult, but eventually she found the tree, dug deep into the ground, and found the small egg containing the vampire's soul.  Vasillisa immediately crushed the thing beneath her feet. This act, while killing Koshchei, also had one major significance; it rendered all those of the Vampire's line mortal.  Thus, the Romanian Vampire was born.

But being the desendent of a human born line of vampires did have its perks, thought Kaisha.  For one, Kaisha and the rest of the strigoi were not harmed by the sunlight as many of the other vampire races were.  Kaisha was free to roam the Earth as she liked, by sun or by moon.  The other races of vampire did not have this option, since they did not have the human origins, but then, the other races of vampires were immortal.  Kaisha was sure that this was a fair trade.  She would rather have a full life temporarily than an eternal half-life any day.

Not all of Kaisha's clan held her views.  Her father most certainly did not.  He viewed their mortality as a weakness; a curse placed upon the Strigoi.  Why should they die, while others of their kind did not? To Sorin, they were not _full _vampires, but a breed of tainted humans.

The debate had droned on for another half hour, but it was all in folly.  Sorin had already decided that they _would _at least meet with Lord Voldemort, and see what sort of proposal he could make them.  Sorin had heard of his powers in the beginning, and was now anxious to meet him upon his return to power.

Sorin's voice became more commanding as the deliberations continued, and eventually, his will, as it always had, asserted its dominance.  The other five clans fell in line, and listened without complaint to what Sorin had to say.

"It is agreed then.  We will respond to Lord Voldemort's request, and allow him to send his ambassadors.  When we have received word from him, we will then plan the assembly.  Until then, we must think on what we want, and what he may give us.  Do not speak of this outside of us; the less who know, the better.  Clans, we will meet again soon." It was never a request when Sorin spoke.  He did not ask, he commanded.  With those final words the vampires departed, and Kaisha, quickly kissing her father on the cheek, hurried off to go find Charlie.

                                                *   *   *   *   *

As the quartet hurried up to the Gryffindor common room, Harry tried to prepare himself for the scene that he would be walking into upon their arrival.  Ginny had been perfectly correct in worrying for the safety of the unread letter; Fred and George were liable to do absolutely anything when it came to making a joke.  Harry envisioned several scenarios of what the twins may be trying to do, from making said letter secrete the foulest smell imaginable, to transfiguring the letter into a bear.  Harry even had a clear mental image of the twins flailing their arms madly, gnashing their teeth, and eating the letter, only to spit it at them like wild men.  This however, seemed highly unlikely (although not out of the realm of possibility).  

After giving the Fat Lady their current password ("spoon!"), the troupe entered into the somewhat subdued common room, only to come face to face with a scene that even Harry could not have imagined.

The twins were seated at one of the common room tables _studying_.  Ron's jaw nearly hit the floor, and Harry was forced to do a double take.  Hermione had a glow about her, which couldn't be mistaken for anything other than pride.  Ginny, however, was still peering around the room anxiously, looking rather nervous.

"No sign of them… where in the world could they have gotten too?  I told them not to-" Ginny broke off in mid-sentence and her gaze followed Ron's trembling finger pointed at the twins.  "Oh good God," was all she could manage. 

Seated, the twins appeared to be so absorbed in their open text books that they didn't even notice they were being watched.  Between them, looking quite untampered with, was the brown envelope of Mr. Weasley's letter.  It was still in one piece.

Ginny rushed over to where the boys sat and was sorely tempted to give George a good hard poke, just to make sure they weren't a mirage.  The trio followed in tow.  "I don't believe it!" exclaimed Ginny. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"Well," replied Fred, "if you think we're playing Quidditch, then you're wrong.  We happen to be studying for our N.E.W.T.s." He shifted nervously in his chair and cast an expectant glare at his twin

"'That's right," chimed in George quickly.  "Got to do pretty well this year. Gringotts doesn't give business loans to dummies, now do they?"

Ron went an even whiter shade of pale.  Hermione, who was absolutely beaming, was quite sure that he wasn't able to form words yet.  "_I_, for one, am thrilled that the both of you have decided to take your academic careers more seriously, even if it _is _rather late in the game."  The twins grinned at each other, as if they knew something that Hermione didn't. 

It was at that point trouble began to stir at the other end of the table.  

Lee Jordan, looking very flustered indeed, was nearly shouting.  "I didn't write that!  I swear to God _I didn't write that_." Curious, people began to wander over, wanting to see exactly what it was that Lee hadn't written.

Lee, who had turned a deep shade of crimson, quickly tried to hide the offending piece of parchment.  It was, however, too late.  Fred, who was up and out of his seat at the first signs of the commotion, grabbed the parchment, quickly scanned it, and, with a dramatic flare, said,"Lee? What's this? _You_ love Katie Bell?"

Lee looked positively murderous.  "Blimey, we knew you liked her Lee, but we obviously didn't know how much!" And with that, Fred held the parchment up for the entire common room to see.  All across the page, written over and over again, was '_I love Katie Bell_'. 

Fred handed the parchment back to Lee, and, moments later, the quill that Lee had used to NOT write the phrase, exploded with a loud bang.  The smoke rose quickly above Lee's head and formed the hazy words "Lee Loves Katie".

The common room erupted with laughter.  Katie Bell, who was looking rather pink herself, marched straight over to Fred and George, and clouted them both across the back of their heads, and when she spoke, it was with all the fury that Hell could contain.  "That _wasn't _funny!  I _know _you twodid something to Lee's quill.  Honestly, will you two ever grow up?" Having said all she could (that was acceptable in public), Katie stormed off as fast as she had come. 

"She's right," said George, announcing that fact to the entire common room. "Bewitched them ourselves.  'Quirky Quills' we're callin' them.  Twelve sickles each. Orders to be placed in writing."

Once the common room had begun to settle down, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins headed back to where Fred and George had been sitting.  They sat themselves down, and Hermione, looking rather dejected, slumped next to Ron, who had begun to look more like himself.

Ginny quickly snatched the letter.  "I'm opening it," Ginny stated after she had ripped the top of the envelope almost completely off.  Inside was a rather ordinary looking piece of parchment with Mr. Weasley's distinctive scrawl covering most of it.  Ginny began to clear her throat in preparation to begin, when a louder, much more masculine throat clearing began.  The sound was coming from the letter itself.

"_Ah-Ahem.  Right then._

_Hullo Weasleys! And of course, Harry and Hermione as well._

_I've bewitched this letter to speak itself too you.  Rather good isn't it? Pip Ashterburn at the office showed me how to do it-"_

"Get on with it, Dad!" interrupted Ron, looking rather annoyed. 

_"but I'm sure you kids don't care about that. _

I'm certain you're all pretty curious about why I wanted to have you all together to read, or rather, listen to this."

"Bloody brilliant our Dad is," muttered a sarcastic Fred. 

"Well, I've got some good news for all of you, and then I've got some GREAT news!  As you, Weasleys that is, know, last week I had my official Ministry Review Session.  Apparently, and I hope I don't sound too conceited in saying this, I'm doing an excellent job."

Harry could almost hear Mr. Weasley blush as he said this.

"Because of this, the Ministry has decided to reward my hard works the only way they know how.  I've gotten a raise!"

Ginny gave a little squeal of joy, and Ron let out a loud "Yeah!"

"Don't get too excited now, children, it's not that much. But, it is enough to do something your mother an' I have always wanted to do. 

This summer, in a couple of weeks to be a bit more specific, we are going to be visiting Charlie in Romania.  As a family. Oh, and Harry and Hermione, Molly and I would be very pleased if you could join us.  Don't worry a thing about the cost, we will be staying at the Ministry of Magic's embassy in Întuncare, where Charlie's camp is.  We don't actually pay to stay there." Mr. Weasley's voice was absolutely ringing with pride as he said "it's one of the perks that you get for working at the Ministry."

"It's about the only perk," sniggered George. "That is, unless, you feel passionately about the free earl gray in the staff room." 

"As for additional costs, we can work something out later.  Hermione, ask your parents for permission, and then send us an owl when you know whether you can come.  Harry, you might as well ask the Dursleys, but we're not taking no for an answer from them.  It's going to be a rather extended stay, as we will be there most of the summer.  Molly and I are looking forward to seeing you both.

Well, I had better finish this letter soon, it's getting close to tea.  

Much love,

        Dad

And P.S.: George. Fred.  Your mother and expect to see great things from you this term, ESPECIALLY on your N.E.W.T.s."

The group began to chatter amongst themselves excitedly. A Holiday in Romania?  This was just the sort of thing that Harry had been dreaming about.  Ok, so maybe it wasn't exactly what Harry had dreamt of when he thought of the summer, but it fulfilled the major requirements; it got him away from the Dursleys.

Hermione began to gush about the 'wonderful opportunity to observe other wizarding cultures'.  Ron looked over to Harry, rolled his eyes, and looked at Hermione with complete disgust as she began to list off the books that she would have to take out of the Library to 'read up on the matter'.

Harry expected Ron was a little more than wary of spending an entire summer surrounded by dragons after his experiences with Hagrid's baby dragon, Norbert.  Or, more specifically, Norbert's teeth.  Harry hadn't minded Norbert so much.  It was a giant Hungarian Horntail that Harry wasn't particularly fond of.

Fred and George were busy discussing other matters.  "I heard that colony has about half the vampire population of Europe," said George.

"Less, it's gotta be.  It's only the Romanian vampires that live in Întuncare.  They're watched really closely as well.  Dad says they're dead harmless," responded Fred.

Ginny, it seemed, did not agree with this opinion.  Ginny, who had previously been most excited at the mention of the holiday, had suddenly gone quite pale, and wore a worried expression upon her face.  "What is it Ginny?" asked Harry.  He had only once seen that look of fear on her face, and it had been when Harry was in mortal danger in the Chamber of Secrets.  Ginny looked up at Harry, and seemed to shake off whatever it had been that was bothering her.

"It's nothing, I just, you know, don't really like vampires much," said Ginny, quietly adding, "they give me nightmares."  A deep blush rapidly replaced the paleness of her face. 

The silence that followed Ginny's confession only lasted a couple of seconds before Ron loudly exclaimed, "I'm starving! Can't we continue this discussion at dinner, considering that it's probably half over already!"

Harry scanned the common room, to discover that it was empty around them.  "I second that vote," he said, as his stomach emitted a low gurgle.  And with that, the group headed down towards the Great Hall, still buzzing with thoughts of Romania, Dragons, and Vampires.

                                                *   *   *   *   *


	3. Nocturnal Habits

Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Kaisha and the vampire clans). JKR is God! Please don't sue me, all I have is a (rather extensive) collection of Buffy books and $11.31 to my name!  
  
A.N.: I'd like to send out a huge thank you to all my awesome betas.without them there would be no story to tell. Also, I must especially thank Missy Hallan, Prof. Amira, Sam Mallory, and Aristyar. Oh yeah, and Alli, for her enthusiasm. ( Go Your Own Way Chapter Two: Nocturnal Habits  
  
The rest of term sped by as fast as Krum could chase a snitch; very rapidly indeed. Hermione, as expected, got the most O.W.L.s of all the fifth year students, and was, naturally, quite pleased. Harry could tell that Ron had been quite please with Hermione's results, but doubted his best friend would ever admit to it. Ron, as expected, had rolled his eyes when she had found out her results, which earned him a light smack on the arm by an ecstatic Hermione. Harry and Ron had managed to do fairly well on their exams as well, despite Hermione's stubborn refusal to help Ron with a 'Brain Booster' charm, which Ron had found in "Chang's Choices for Cheaters." This book could be found on the extensive list of Hogwarts academic contraband. How it found it's way into Ron's possession, was something that neither Fred or George Weasley knew anything about; especially if they were being questioned. "Come on, Hermione," Harry had heard Ron say. "It's the only way I'll pass our potions final. You know Snape's got it in for me.and Harry, for that matter, but at least he's got some chance of passing." Ron flashed Hermione his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. For a moment, the compelling argument that had been building up inside Hermione's brain lost some of its footing. But as soon as Hermione took her eyes from Ron's, her line of reasoning was back on solid ground. "Yes, Ron, I am aware of the Snape situation. But what better excuse could he have to get you expelled than to let him catch you cheating on his exam?" she retorted. "Besides, I'm sure the professors will have thought up a way to counter all possible cheating spells." After several similar conversations, Ron, rather sulkily, had finally given up. To Hermione's immense satisfaction, he had agreed that perhaps actually studying would be his best plan of action. And, much to Ron's surprise, it had worked! He had stunned himself by not only passing Snape's exam without the use of any charms (or causing physical damage to himself or others), but also by receiving O.W.L.s in several other classes to boot. The twins, it seemed, had been studying very hard as well; they had received more than enough N.E.W.T.s than were required to leave Hogwarts. Ron was adamant that Fred and George must have paid someone off to receive grads like those, but Harry doubted that was true.for the most part. Now that Harry was staying at the Burrow, he had plenty of opportunities to ask the twins what they had really done to receive all those N.E.W.T.s, but he found there were more important things on his mind. The idea of bringing up school seemed to pale in comparison to all the questions that had been buzzing around his head these days. Questions about their impending trip to Romania; questions about the subtle tension he could feel between Hermione and Ron; and, to his dismay, questions about Cho. Harry had bumped into Cho Chang two days ago, heading up to the Gryffindor common room after the Hogwarts End of Year feast. Harry had only seen Cho a few times all year, and they had mostly been when Ravenclaw was battling it out with Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch- not exactly the perfect setting for a heart to heart. "Oh hi, Harry," Cho had said, in her usual pleasant tone. Harry remembered thinking that she was just as pretty as she had always been, but there was something very different about her now. Her beauty, which had always been vibrant and full of life, now seemed shadowed. "Congratulations on the winning the Quidditch Cup this year. Your team has never played so well." " Ah.thanks," said Harry modestly. "Your team was the best we've faced in years." This was definitely true. Harry's team had played a very determined Ravenclaw for this year's Quidditch championships. Gryffindor was certainly lucky that Harry had managed to catch the snitch, as they had only won by thirty points including the one hundred and fifty provided by its capture. "Well, I'd best be off," had said Cho sadly. "I still haven't packed for the train ride home tomorrow." "Neither have I." Cho and Harry grinned at their mutual lack or organization, and then said their farewells. As Harry walked away, he couldn't help but feel poignant sadness for the girl he had once admired so much. Harry knew that her grief was a direct result of the death of Cedric Diggory during last year's Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knew that Cedric and Cho must have been very close. During one of the difficult tasks the champions had to partake in, merpeople of the lake on Hogwarts grounds took the person each champion cared about most in this world; Cho had been Cedric's hostage. Harry had lost his own parents, but he was only a baby when it had happened. He couldn't even comprehend what it must be like to live life with someone you love deeply, and have to continue on in his absence. Harry didn't know exactly what he now felt for the girl, only that it had changed. He felt the bond that all who have lost a loved one share, and he wished to befriend another survivor. There was comfort in this realization. As Harry lay in bed, pondering this new realization, he didn't dare ask himself the one question that haunted his dreams and hid itself as best it could in his waking hours. Why did he now get the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach when he caught a flash of red hair and soft blue eyes, and heard the gentle giggle of a feminine voice?  
  
* * * * *  
  
The Crone could sense the terror rolling off from the boy in great crushing waves, like the air rising from the hot pavement on a scorching summer day. Her visions we so strong in her old age that she could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her wrinkled skin. She could see that the boy's wrists were bound. He was helpless to stop his captors, but, as great as his fear was, it was shadowed by his rage. Inside of him was a battle, just waiting to be fought. He would get his chance sure enough, and The Crone knew she did not want to be there when it broke out.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ginny had suffered from vivid nightmares since early childhood. However, while most children eventually grew out of these traumatic night time experiences, Ginny's had only intensified. Tonight, Ginny was having her most recurrent night terror. She was alone, and it was dark. She was running, stumbling, tripping; fleeing through the shadowy woods as fast as her legs would allow her. But it wasn't fast enough. It never was. She could run forever, but it would always catch her. Death would always catch her. All around her she could see it, feel them. She couldn't think- she could only run. An image flashed through her mind's eye. It was of a girl: young, but older than Ginny. She was screaming, but Ginny didn't know the cause. And she was afraid; so afraid, in fact, that Ginny herself could almost see the fear oozing off of her. But as suddenly as the image had come, it left, and Ginny was once again running through the forest, scratching her bare legs on the sharp branches she passed, and scraping her knees on the ground as she fell. She hit the ground, and her mind was bombarded by with another image. It was a mother, scared and screaming, and a baby dead on the ground. The woman was speaking, though the language was harsh and Ginny did not understand it; but she could feel what the woman felt. Her world had come to an end. Her child would not grow up to know her love, and no price was higher than that. As the man with the shining white skin moved towards the woman, Ginny was plunged back into the dream reality. She picked herself up of the ground and began to run again. Blood was pounding in her veins, and the drumbeat of her heart was all she could hear. She ran and ran, and another image clouded her vision. It was a boy; a boy she knew well. His green eyes were oceans, and rivers ran down his face. He was on his knees, covered in dirt and blood. He was mouthing a name, over and over again, but in the silence of her vision, she could not tell what it was. He hurled the broken glasses from his face, and flung himself downwards, using himself as a human blanket for the body that lay beneath. Ginny new it was a body he covered, but she could only see the corpse's small white hand, lying in a pool of crimson. The image cleared, and Ginny could again see where she was going. The shadows of the forest around her were moving, and Ginny knew she did not have much time left. He would be coming for her; he always did. And, out of the darkness, he appeared. He stood before her, tall and gaunt, glowing a ghostly white in the pale moonlight. There was only one feeling that emanated from his being: hunger. It was a desire so great that it would devour the world. He moved like a cat towards her, and she was powerless to stop him. His gaze held her like a root to earth. Her running had come to an end. He was upon her. She caught a flash of white teeth, then felt the warmth on her neck, and the pain as his teeth pierced her flesh. As he fed, one thing filled her blackening vision. It was an eye, its iris so dark that no light could escape it. In the middle of this black hole of vision, was a slitted pupil, the deep purple-red of unshed blood. The dream, as it always had, ended at this climax. This time, however, where Ginny had always woken up in loud sobs and streams of tears, the one word, the one thought that Ginny had known throughout the entire night terror, voiced itself in a scream. "Father!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Somewhere in the night, the young girl was weeping. The Crone's next vision was filled with the loneliness that she herself had never felt. This poor child had no clan to fall back on; she was alone in the world. As the girl cried, The Crone could feel a despair she had never felt before; this girl had lost her future. As the Crone was one with events yet to come, this thought scared her like no others. The child continued her soft sobbing, and The Crone was overcome by the desire to reach out and put a comforting arm about the young girl's shoulders. But there was nothing to be done. The Crone knew the girl was right; she was beyond all hope.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kaisha was regretting eating so close to bedtime; it always gave her such a rush that it was hard to settle down to sleep. True, the blood that the Agency gave to the clans was not the 'quality of kings', as her father referred to rich blood straight from the vein, but it was still enough to give Kaisha a buzz. Kaisha, who did not know any difference in blood, didn't think that the blood donor packages from the Vampire Control Agency were all that bad. They were enough to sustain her, and wasn't that what it was really all about? She knew that her father felt differently on the subject, but times had changed since he had been Kaisha's age. When he was a boy, the VCA hadn't existed, and the vampires of Kaisha's clan had been able to feed off of whomever they wished. Now the wizards in the valley of Întuncare controlled their clan. They were no longer allowed to hunt; blood was delivered once a week, and each vampire was allotted a certain amount. There was no hunt, no prey, no glory of the kill, as there had been in times past, as her father had often reflected. Kaisha, who had been raised as much by the dragon keepers in the village as she had been by her father, could not even imagine hunting her friends as prey. Her father, however, had grown up in a different world. Compared to her father, who was approaching his seventieth year (not young, but not old considering the extended life spans of their people), the Agency was merely a baby, being set up only a couple of decades before Kaisha's birth. Kaisha, despite holding differing views from Sorin, loved her father very much. She was immensely proud of his strength, his power, and his control. When she was a little girl, Kaisha had been quite in awe of the man who could pierce one's heart with just a glance. He had always been so big and tough, and Kaisha felt like just a mouse by comparison. She loved the way that all eyes fell on him when he entered a room, and she wondered if, one day, she would ever have such authority over her people. As Sorin's heir, Kaisha was next in line for leadership of the Koshchei clan, but she doubted she would be able to live up to her father's legacy. The will of others broke like the waves upon a rock when faced with the might of Sorin Koshchei, and Kaisha believed, in her heart of hearts, that no force on this earth could compete with his command. Perhaps it was the familiarity with beings of great power that had led Kaisha to the dragon colony that first day. The dragons, like her father, were rough and wild: a force of nature not to be reckoned with. She had been re-taught that lesson today as she and Charlie had worked with Adanac, an especially difficult Hungarian Horntail. In a moment of sheer forgetfulness, Kaisha (who had been verbally sparring with Charlie for the past twenty minutes) turned her back on the beast. A moment was all it took. Adanac, despite his great size, was fast as lightning, twisted his hulking body and nearly took Kaisha out with a swift and deadly strike of his tail. Had it not been for Charlie, who dove on top of her and forced her to the grown, Kaisha could very easily have died. The blow would not have killed her, but the loss of blood from a wound like that would have made it difficult for her to survive. Kaisha had blamed Charlie for her near fatality. The two had been in the middle of a heated debate on the ethics of Charlie wearing dragon hide gloves while working at a dragon preservation colony. She had been focusing all her attention on winning the argument, and when Adanac's tail swung around, she was entirely unprepared for it. 'Hell, if the twat's not busy saving my life,' she thought, 'he's finding a new way to make me lose it! One second we're fighting, and the next thing I know he's on top of me.' Just thinking about that incident made Kaisha's face grow red in the darkness. She had never been so near to a man, other than her father, before in her life. Even the dangerous circumstances that caused the need for contact between her body and his, could not erase the thrill Kaisha had felt when she was in such close proximity to Charlie. Her head spun at the remembrance, and Kaisha had to force herself to settle down. It was Charlie, after all. Sure, things had felt a little odd between them lately, and they had been bickering more than usual, but Kaisha chalked it up to Charlie being on edge about the imminent arrival of his family. He wanted everything to be just right for his family's first visit. They would be arriving at some point tomorrow afternoon, and they would be staying at Întuncare for the entire summer. Kaisha was actually quite excited about meeting a family of 'carrot topped invader's' as Charlie had dubbed the incoming Weasley's. She had heard so much about them that Kaisha felt as if she already knew them. She also knew not to take any sweets if the twins were offering. As Kaisha lay in bed, pondering just what each sibling would look like (and coming up with shorter or taller versions of Charlie, which was very unfortunate indeed for poor little Ginny), she found that her eyes were slowly beginning to shut, and her breathing slowed to the deep rhythmic pattern that guided sleepers to dream land. Tomorrow was going to be an important day, and Kaisha needed all the rest she could get.  
  
* * * * * As the vision of the red-haired girl had left her, the image of a young woman, pale and sleek in the moonlight, quickly replaced it. The Crone was aware that the young woman in this vision was one of her own kind. This new girl was crying, just as the girl in the previous vision had been. Her tears however, we not of loneliness; they were the bitter tears of a curse. The dark woman was only a living vessel for spite towards the world. Her tears were hot and angry, and The Crone could only fear for the ones who had caused such pain. She was sure they would feel it themselves.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ginny had tossed and turned in her bed for well over three quarters of an hour. She knew she would need her sleep, as they were to be leaving for Romania in the morning. But every time she shut her eyes, her mind was filled with one clear image: the black eye with the slitted red pupil. Ginny doubted she would ever sleep again if she were bombarded with the same image every time she shut her eyes. She was quickly becoming over heated as well. She felt hot and sticky, even though she was only wearing her over-sized tee-shirt pajamas. She needed to get out of bed. Her covers had finally twisted themselves into a tangled mess, so she got out of bed to sort out the knotted mess of blankets. Once she had placed her feet on the cool wood of the floorboards, she knew she wouldn't be going back to bed just yet. Her bare legs felt free from the prison of her stuffy sheets, and she realized that what she was craving more than anything was a nice, cool, glass of water. When she had finished setting her bed to rights, she slipped out the door, not bothering with the housecoat and slippers her mother had them wear to keep from catching a chill. As she headed down the darkened staircase towards the kitchen, she noticed a faint light coming from her destination. 'Well, at least I'm not the only one who can't sleep,' she thought to herself. Her best guess was that it would be Percy in the kitchen; fretting about all the work he'd be missing. Even though he'd technically only be missing a week or so of work, as he and Mr. Weasley would be apparating to and from work after their first week in Romania, Percy was acting like it was the end of the world. However, as Ginny stepped off the bottom stair, she discovered that she was quite wrong indeed. It wasn't Percy; it wasn't even a family member at all. There, at the kitchen table with a steaming glass of milk in front of him, sat Harry, all alone in the dimly lit kitchen.  
  
Harry, who had had trouble sleeping as well, had crept down to the kitchen, as quietly as a mouse, some time before Ginny had left her room. He sat there, lost in his own thoughts, until a flash of red hair caught his attention. At the bottom of the stairs stood Ginny, wearing nothing but an extremely large 'Chuddley Cannons' t-shirt. Her hair was tousled (as he imagined his was as well) and she looked extremely flushed. He assumed that she must have been somewhat rosy to begin with, because when she noticed him seated there, she turned a deeper shade of crimson. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she herself had noticed the pink rising on Harry's own face. 'As long as you don't look directly at her, you'll be fine,' he reassured himself. "Oh. Harry, sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to." She turned and went to go back upstairs, but Harry called out to stop her. This was her home after all, and Harry didn't like the idea of inconveniencing any of the Weasleys, let alone a half dressed Ginny in the middle of the night. Harry's blush deepened a shade darker than Ginny's. "Oh, no, you really didn't interrupt," said Harry a little awkwardly, before she could make it back up the stairs. "You could stay. I've made some warm milk if you'd like some?" Ginny turned, and with a small smile on her face, responded, "Thanks, but I'm not sure the hot milk would help cool me down much." Looking a little more relaxed than she had when she first entered the room, Ginny made her way over to one of the kitchen cupboards and fixed herself a glass of water from the tap. She turned and pulled out a seat at the table, directly across from Harry. A moment of tense silence passed, until Harry spoke. "So. are you excited about the holiday?" This was the best conversation starter Harry was able to come up with under pressure. "I'm really looking forward to seeing Charlie again," she responded. "I barely even got to say 'Hi' to him when he was at the school last year. he was too busy with the dragons I'd imagine." "What do they do at these dragon colonies anyways?" "Oh, they do lots of stuff." Harry knew he was home free. He knew that once he had gotten the conversation rolling, Ginny, a true chatterbox if ever there was one, would manage to keep the conversation going. Once she had gotten over her initial shyness, Ginny was always keen to talk about anything and everything. It was actually one of the things that Harry admired the most about her. She was an open book. As Harry sipped his warm glass of milk, and Ginny cooled herself with her water, the two found themselves in a conversation that broached all subjects, from the 'Colony for the Conservation of Endangered Dragon Species', where Charlie worked, to theories about the real reasons Professor McGonagall had never gotten married. Time often has a way of rushing past when you wish it would slow to a trickle, and before Harry knew it, Ginny had informed him that it was 4:30 in the morning- they had been talking for over an hour and a half! "We ought to head back to bed," said Harry, who was after all, starting to feel the need for more sleep. "I'd say so," replied Ginny, "considering we have to be getting up in 3 hours time." With that they picked up their dishes, put them in the sink, and headed up the stairs. When they had reached Ginny's bedroom door, the pair stopped to say goodnight. Well, in theory, anyways. Though they had just spent a considerable length of time chatting away, they stood there, at a complete loss for words, and looking at anywhere but at eachother. Moments passed, and still no words formed on Harry's tongue. Just when Harry thought they'd still be standing there until the rest of the Weasley's woke up, Ginny finally broke the silence. "Well, um, goodnight then," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. Of all the suave things Harry was brainstorming as responses (including "back at ya'," and the infamous "ditto"), all he could manage to stammer was, "Yeah, ah, 'night Ginny." As Harry turned, mentally cursing his lack of finesse, Ginny called out. "Oh, and Harry"- She paused, lowering her eyes to look at the (suddenly fascinating) floor. "Thanks." "For what?" Her last statement had genuinely puzzled him. "Ah.I dunno, just thanks," Ginny lied. Truth be told, she didn't really want to tell Harry she was saying thanks because he'd managed to make her feel better. It seemed just a little to personal. Ginny managed to look Harry straight in the eye, and flash a small smile despite the butterflies that were staging a small rebellion in her stomach. But as soon as Harry caught the smile, Ginny had fled back into her darkened room. Harry himself turned, still a little shaky, and made it back up to his bed.  
  
Harry fell right asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, as did Ginny. Surprisingly enough, neither of them had any nightmares for the rest of the night. 


End file.
